Where ☹ Muke

II ; this is what it takes to breathe.

« clifford »

One week being here and I'm feeling massively creeped out still.

The past few days they kept their distance but gave me attention, something they hadn't really done since I was about four years old and I don't know if I liked it or if it was terrifying because it felt so strange.

They made me breakfast and updated me on social media, they joked around with me and spent money to take me shopping and such. It was nice and the feelings of relapse I'd had on my first day had basically vanished -- I only had the thoughts when it was late at night and I had nightmares.

I don't know but I'm thinking about asking for a new bed because maybe that would help me sleep at night and not thrash around remembering everything that'd happens on the exact mistress six years ago, it's the past and I want to move on.

They've already bought me a full wardrobe of at least thirty whole outfits and let me get my eyebrow pierced along with my ears and a small tattoo on my finger -- I wanted more tattoos but hey, it's better than nothing and it's a school policy here apparently, so something small and simple would go unnoticed.

Not to mention the fact that they bought me a phone, which was nice though I was crazy confused how to use it seeing as the only electronic I'd used in six years was the dinosaur in the rec. room and even there we had security blocking us from almost every social media site possible.

"Mom?"

"Yes Mikey?" I fidgeted not knowing what to say because I didn't want to sound weak but telling her I was scared of my room and I didn't want to make her think I was a pussy for asking for a new bed.

"Um I was just wondering if maybe when we got money we could like uh, renovate my room a bit?"

"Of course dear, nobody wants to sleep on a stained mattress that's smaller then a bug! I can't believe I didn't think of that, I guess I didn't expect you to be ten foot tall." She laughed turning to the stove where she flipped a pancake.

"Thank you, seriously a lot because well, I don't deserve anything you've done for me." I smiled fondly and for once it feel like I was seriously smiling, not having the corners of my lips rips upwards by hades.

"Baby you deserve the world."

"I deserve shit, I mean I wrecked your life in the past and you bring me in a treat me so nicely and just -- thank you." I was not going to cry in front of her, I cannot appear weak again.

"Shh, dear don't cry," she whispered clicking the stove burner off and walking to where I stood furiously wiping away my tears, "everything's okay, you're okay, were okay, your dads okay, Michael were a family and we'll do it together. Happily okay?"

I clung to her chest sobbing onto her shoulder like a baby, it felt good to cry for once -- it seems like an eternity since I'd done it -- she rubbed circles against my shoulder while humming softly in a soothing rhythm calming me down. "You should rest for a while, you have school tomorrow and it's okay to be stressful on you."

"W-why?"

"Dear when is the last time you were cramped in a room with thirty plus people of your age?"

"Six years ago." I muttered looking down at my feet, even back then the crowds gave me severe social anxiety and I seemed to always have anxiety attacks daily.

"Exactly dear, just remember to take your medication and do your breathing therapy and everything will go okay." I nodded pulling out of her arms and wandering back to my room seeing my bag of things from the stay in NYC remembering one other thing I had that was semi-important to me.

My song book.

I held the tearing leather in my hands biting down harshly on my lip debating on whether or not I wanted to continue my last song -- I hadn't finished it and I wasn't know to leave a song incomplete. I ran my fingers over the soft worn edges of the pages and flipped it open.

There were about fifty songs and poems mixed in the small black book, it was the one thing I seemed to be able to do right and I liked working with it whenever I could possibly write or had inspiration. It made me feel normal, free to be myself without judgement.

I looked down at the last lyrics I'd written and licked my lip thinking of a line that would go good with the lyrics I'd already written. It had to be at least semi-catchy but it had to go with the words and the beat I had going but I just needed a simple verse, something smooth.

Oh, oh oh,
In our society,
Everybody's trying me,
Oh, oh, oh,
Just a teen,
Barely seen,
With addictions,
Hating myself with silent affliction,
Oh, oh, oh,
My personality in vain,
Self-inflicted pain,
Oh, oh, oh,
Someday I will be,
Pushed past the limits,
Oh, oh,
in a matter of minutes,
With nobody there,
Nobody to care,
And that's okay.
Oh, oh.

Yeah that's a pretty good ending, I mean it's kinda depressing but it makes me happy to write out my feelings and it just so happens to go with the song, and well some of my lingering thoughts. Hey maybe I could use some of that in a poem, I'll remember that for literature class someday.

"Michael?" I heard a light knock at the door and looked up to see my dad standing in the doorway with a smile lazily etching his features. "My buddies are here to watch the game and well I was going to see if you could up entertain one of their sons, he's about your age but he doesn't seem all that into football and you're kinda lonely and I do-" I cut him off with a light laugh.

"Dad of course, just have the kid come in and I can handle him."

"Oh and remember you have your nightly meds you have to take in fifteen minutes," he mumbled shooting me another smile and leaving me alone to wait for this kid.

I looked back down at my notebook seeing if there was anything I could change about what I'd written, maybe a few small quips I could change to go better with my chords I'd written. "Hi I'm Ashton." A chirpy voice said from the doorway of my room making me jump, he sounded like a cartoon character and it scared me for a moment.

He giggled.

He fucking giggled.

I looked up to see a boy with a bandana wrapped around his head of curly hair along with deeply dimpled cheeks and instead of introducing myself want do I do -- obviously go poke his cheek. "Oh I'm Michael." I smiled walking back to my bed and patting the spot beside me telling him to sit.

"Daryl's lived here for a long time now, so why haven't I seen you before?" He asked cocking his head to the side -- damn I'm going to have to get used to not imagining him as a kangaroo.

He's too cute to be a kangaroo.

Well kangaroos are cute, but he's cuter.

"Hold on, if you don't mind me asking how long has Daryl lived here exactly?"

"Um I don't know about six years ago, it was after Karen's boytoy moved out." I internally shuttered as he said boytoy, just ew -- nope -- why -- my ears -- my perspective of myself -- oh god.

"Oh, well I just came from New York, I've lived there for about six years." I said muttering the part about six years because that's horrific.

"So you're her boytoy?" He squeaked his eyes widening to reveal just how pretty hazel they were.

"NO! NOPE, NOPE, NEWW. I'm her son." His face flushed as he began to laugh.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry." He giggled clutching his stomach tightly only making me feel the urge to laugh along with him.